Posts for 2020 (page 60)

Do not rename a target.

Ask before overwriting.

The renaming has no safeguards

If the user has permission to rewrite names,

the command will perform the action without any questions.

the result can be quite drastic,

unless you truly know what you are doing.

rename can be terminal, where you press ENTER.

rename requires only a single key unanticipated error …

—
Found poem (erasure) from Linux Man Pages. Complete text at:

https://man7.org/linux/man-pages/man1/rename.1.html

The ghost of spray paint haunts its walls
where the creek rocks bear the weight of years
under the low bridge
is a crossroads of two creeks meeting

The creek rocks bear the heavy weight of years
where the hill dreams in quiet murmur
this nexus point connection
the moss is green, and deep underfoot

Where the gurgle of a hillside stream sings
in this crossroads of creek water
the water is colder here
there’s something cavern like under the bridge

Its opening a tunnel between two creeks
under the low bridge
spelunking without a cave
there was the ghost of spray paint haunting its walls

Pouring rain kissed the earth before sunrise
and the crickets’ song celebrated each drop with jubilation.

Swamp’s edge
& grandfather’s chrome
Ray-O-Vac shines ahead
in the humid dark. Deep rippling
of bullfrogs. Smell of duckweed
& water moss. He aims
his three-pronged spear. Hindus say

Shiva’s flesh is whitened
by the pale fragments
of human ashes. That his trident
commands earth, sea
& air. My grandfather feared
the god of the Baptists, never heard
of Shiva, but in the sweltry west

Tennessee night, with his pouch
of Red Man, pint of Jack
& heavy iron spear,
perhaps he felt the power
of destroyer & restorer, maybe
the indwelling. The silver
beam of his flashlight dances

with river shimmer, making his skin
ripple & glow like lightning bolts
in a raincloud. I think of his
left hand, calloused & firm,
steering the motor from behind
& when he reaches the marshy

edge of the frog-filled
water he becomes as exuberant
as a smiling God-drunk saint. He pierces
the bullfrog’s pale yellow belly & rules the world
for an hour or two in the carpet-thick
moss, not yet knowing 
of the hard years to come.

Walking around
palms-up supplicant,
open-mouthed & vulnerabilities
spilling out
coating, like second skin.

They see
armor
say ‘she’s so strong’
‘look how she gleams’

This warrior, bearing weight
wants only shelter
someone to see through the shine
wants
only
surcease.

I expected it to be temporary,
For the feeling to slowly fade away,
However as time passes,
I strangely feel her getting closer,
Yet she’s still so far away,
So distant,
I find myself longing for that beautiful mind,
For that perfect and radiant personality,
I find that as time passes,
My love has never faltered,
I long for days past,
For futures never explored,
I long for her flaws,
Her comfort,
She may be gone,
She may have moved on,
But our memories together remained,
And my love for her remains unchanged

Lemon yellow folded
wings to dip and coast like a wave
paths of purposed flight.

As darkness spreads
and wind tumbles through,
I peel my eyes open
despite fear of the unknown.

Knocked off my balance
and I come crashing down
into my grandpas
favorite bush. I remember
the day we planted it:
him delicately placing each root
in the ground
and me stomping all over them.

Still lying among the bush
with wind forcing me
in deeper
I bat my eyes to be met
with his face.
Noticing every detail—

the over baked color of his skin,
crystal green eyes, and perfect artificial
teeth. I know as soon as I
blink the wind will crash through again

rearranging the leaves
and taking him back with it.

Maybe a ghost haunts the dean’s office